“It's just like waking up,
In that second and a half,
The bliss of not remembering,
Before it all comes flooding back.” – Ben Folds
In that second and a half,
The bliss of not remembering,
Before it all comes flooding back.” – Ben Folds
Yes, everyone dies. Yes, sometimes it is sudden. Yes, you
are never prepared for it. At some point you lose someone you love, whether
that someone is a friend, family or even a fur baby, it hurts and cuts deep and
is so permanent.
Here’s the part where my story may differ from some. I was
13 when I lost my mom. When you lose a parent as an adult you have memories to
hold onto, you have a life. When you lose a parent as a teenager, pre-teen or
child, you have scraps of memories. Little pieces you try to cling to and you
hold on so tightly they tend to crumble to dust. Some days I can remember my
mom’s laugh, other days her scent but most days, it’s a wash. I can tell you
she dyed her hair a red-brown color and wore green contacts over light brown
eyes. I can tell you she was a cardio queen and taught morning aerobics up
until the day before she died. I can tell you she hated western medicine and
doctors and believed in healing crystals which helped contribute to her
downfall. I can tell you I loved her with all my heart. I can tell you it hurts
everyday like a scab you can’t stop pick at and it festers and leaves a scar as
a constant reminder. Some mornings I forget she’s gone, or that I’m grown up or
that I grew up without her.
Most of the time I just feel guilty, because I don’t
remember her, because I’m supposed to, because I hold a torch for someone I was
only just beginning to know. My mother shaped me and molded me, even put me in
the kiln but I wasn’t done yet, I wasn’t ready. I had just started puberty. I
had no mother to walk me through hair and makeup, clothes and shaving, bras and
tampons. Some people tried to help, but it was hard and there was pain in their
eyes. My dad, tried, but he’s a man. If I ran out of deodorant or shaving cream
he told me to use his. I spent one year of my teens smelling like Mennen without
a bra and rarely shaven legs. I spent another year shaving everything including
my stomach and chest because I didn’t know any better. My hair was a mess, my
sense of style a disaster and it has taken me years YEARS to find the woman
inside of me. To understand my looks, my skin tone, everything. Losing my mom
meant losing my guidance and I had to feel my way through adolescence. My
mother wasn’t there to tell me there’d be other boys or spend the night letting
me vent with cookies and ice cream and movies. It was just me. I was angry for
a long time. But it’s no one’s fault, there is no one to be angry at, my mother
had a brain aneurysm. She had a blood bubble that slowly leaked into her brain.
It amazes me how a little bit of blood can destroy a life, a family, a child.
Losing a same-sex parent at a young age means you don’t only
lose your guidance, you don’t only live with guilt for not remembering, it
means you also; don’t know how to respond or how to act. My husband told me at
his father’s funeral, he didn’t cry and everyone thought this 11-year-old boy
was brave. I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral and everyone thought I was a
heartless, cruel child. I’ve cried many tears for my mother over the years. What
people don’t understand is as a child you have no coping mechanisms, you have
no clue what you should be doing. You are in SHOCK. The gravity of the
situation doesn’t hit you for YEARS. As a kid you barely understand your
numbers and ABCs let alone death. Something so permanent, so absolute and final
how can you expect a child to understand that? I cry at the drop of a hat, over
anything, commercials, movies, breaking a glass, but my emotions are bewilderment
even to me. I could mechanically tell you about how my mother died and what I
had to do to survive without a tear in my eyes and usually with a smile because
I know you’re just curious. My emotions have been severed and reattached and so
they don’t work like you’d expect. You could be pouring your heart out and I
will be dry eyed and supportive but maybe we could be shopping for clothes and
I just start crying for no apparent reason. I never learned how to express
correctly, how to be appropriate. My mom’s funeral showed me that people judge
you constantly and it also showed me that it’s okay because I won’t force
feelings, I’m me and that’s all I can be.
Today marks 15 years since my mom passed away. She’s been
dead longer than I even had time with her. Each year the anniversary hits me a
different way. Some years I completely forget, other years I am overjoyed
thinking about the time I did have with her, some years it hits me hard and I
can’t contain myself and other years I remember but am neither happy nor sad,
it’s just another day. Losing a parent at a young age turns them into a ghost,
they are a pale comparison to the person they were or we think they were. They
are in your peripherals. They are misty and ambiguous. There are only so many pictures or videos to remind you of someone you can just see the outline of, like a mirage. When the pictures run out, when you've memorized them, when you look at yourself in the mirror and try to pull traits, there's not much more you can do. Some days I remember her
voice and think I hear it in mine. Today, I remember everything, the way she
clicked her tongue, the way she lost her temper, the way she danced, the way
she laughed, her perfume, her outfits, her walk, everything. Tomorrow I might
not be so lucky, best to hold on to today.
